Those Left Behind
by frankiebaby
Summary: Georg and Maria have escaped, all right, but what of Elsa...and Max? My take on what could have happened after the movie. Silly little idea for a one-shot I had...please review-- and enjoy!


Night seemed an infinite fixture in Austria now, the Baroness Elsa Schrader thought distractedly, pressing her forehead against the east glass window in her private sitting-room. The rain in Vienna that morning fell heavy, drumming steadily on the roof and windows; and though it was mid-day, that sky was as dark as dusk.

How adequate, Elsa thought darkly, pursing her small mouth, irritably. She reached into the bosom of her robe and extracted a cigarette she'd hidden there earlier. It was perfumed heavily now, smelling of the gardenia extract she'd dabbed on in the morning—and she lifted it somewhat dazedly to her lips before realizing she had no matches.

"Damn," she cursed under her breath; then she reached up to close the drapes, struggling to bring the heavy damask panels together. After an impatient moment, she kicked off her shoes and rose to her toes, stretching up. "Damn it--!"

"Charming language, Mademoiselle." The sudden voice in the room gave Elsa such a fright that she jumped and nearly fell. She recovered quickly, gripping the curtains for dear life.

"Madame, it's Madame," she snapped back, aware of how ridiculous she sounded to be arguing that point, but not caring. Her companion laughed suddenly, which infuriated her all the more. "Quiet and help me with this, Max, or I'll pull them down on you."

Or…they'd come down themselves, Elsa realized a bit too late, feeling the material give beneath her small hands. She'd jerked the drapes a bit too hard, and down they came in a shower of damask, satin, and…dust. Plenty of it.

Cursing loudly, Elsa clawed her way out, only vaguely aware that Max was assisting her, laughing, of course. He grasped her wrists and hauled her upwards none-to-gently; she stumbled and fell across the soaking-wet coat-front that covered his chest. Recoiling from the cold, she reeled back and looked him in the face, then opened her mouth, preparing to berate him--

Then, she sneezed. Violently. Evidently, the dust had done its job. She managed to speak between sneezes, though.

"Max_—(sneeze)_ why (_sneeze)…_I mean, when _(sneeze_)--" she grasped an offered handkerchief from the deep recesses of his pocket, which was blessedly dry, and blew her nose-- "Thank you. What in God's name are you doing here?"

"Why, aren't you thrilled to see me?" Max stepped over the ruined drapes with a faint expression of disgust at the mess; then he spotted the cigarette she'd wanted to smoke earlier and picked it up, turning it with graceful fingers. He lit it himself and took a long draw, exhaling a plume of smoke with seemingly every suggestion of contentment. "Ah….vanilla. It's been far too long, my dear. Thank _you_."

Elsa gave him a freezing look. Her heart was still jumping in her chest; really, she hated excitement of any sort. "It's rather too early for games, Max," she snapped, and tried to snatch it back, but he was too quick and sidestepped her rather nimbly. "Get to the point. I haven't seen you for…."

"Almost a year," drawled her visitor, blowing rings in her direction. "After you fled your dear fiancée's home in the dead of night…not even a farewell for your old friend, _Liebe meines Lebens?"_

Elsa winced. She hated to be reminded in any way, shape or form of that night, almost a year ago; she would have liked to say she hadn't thought of it since then, but truth be told, it had dominated her thoughts, even to this morning. "Give me my cigarette, Max," she said, icily, tightening her robe and trying to hide her expression as his eyes flickered over her face.

"Good God," Max muttered, ignoring her request; instead, he began a leisurely stroll around her, observing her from every angle, taking everything in. She lifted her chin and pulled out another cigarette, determined to ignore him; but truth be told, she'd never felt so transparent in her life.

"Good _heavens."_

"Light," Elsa snapped, still looking as unconcerned as possible. Max stepped close to her, something in his eyes darkening, then smoothing over into blandness; he obediently lit the cigarette for her, and she inhaled so quickly she began to cough. Her companion quickly made as if to hit her on the back, but she shook her head and moved away. The smoke was bitter, acrid in her throat and lungs; unbidden, tears came to her eyes. She fumbled for the handkerchief, but Max took it from her, wiping her face himself.

"Poor little girl," he said; and his voice was suddenly heavy with true sympathy. "Come and sit next to me on your window-seat, dearest, and I'll stop being such a beast."

"That's impossible for you." Undone, she sniffed—she couldn't help herself—and allowed him to put an arm round her waist, lift her onto the seat, then hoist himself up. Silence for a moment. Then--

"You're thin," he said; and his voice was quiet. Mellow. Much as she remembered it, although the playful element was somewhat gone, now.

"So are you," she observed, looking up in his face. It was true. His skin was dark, as if he'd been out in the sun; and he _was_ leaner now, all the softness that came from his excesses gone from his frame. His jaw was hard now, as was his expression; only thing that remained the same, she thought, was that crafty gleam in his eye, the mustache, and the thick, glossy hair. "You're getting gray, too," she added, a little spitefully.

"Wench." His answer was quick and not at all serious, but his hand went to his head, self consciously; then he dropped it and began pulling her close to him, as had been their habit, in those days. She grimaced when she felt the wet soak through to her skin, but didn't push him away-- it'd been too long since she'd had any sort of human contact, and this….

"I have missed you," she said matter-of-factly, tucking a small hand into the crook of his arm. Her voice was soft.

"Of course you have, darling."

"What, did you swim here?"

"No, just a rather long stroll outdoors. Your gate-man very obligingly offered me a horse-blanket at the entrance, but I disliked the smell."

Her lips curved upward slightly, and she exhaled a plume of smoke. "I--" she paused.

Max waited; when she shook her head, he spoke again. "Well. I must say you're playing the broken-hearted role quite well."

"What?" she asked, shocked.

"Dressing-gown at noon, hair a mess, disgustingly thin…." He poked her in the ribs to emphasize her point, and she jerked, giving a little shriek and attempting to burn him with her cigarette. "Really, Elsa. What happened to the dear Captain Von Trapp and all of his—your-- both of yours--lovely money?"

"Where?" she asked stupidly, trying to get free; however, he held her fast. "Nothing happened, Max. It wouldn't have worked, that's all."

"Hmm."

"It wouldn't have, so don't even regale me with one of your obscene implications." Her voice was bitter now, but she didn't care. "The little minx played her cards well, though she probably didn't realize it. Innocent, wide-eyed, hard-to-get--" she was spitting out the words now, ignoring Max's raised brows. "Don't look at me that way, Max; I know the game—for goodness' sake, that's how I got my first husband. Mary, mother of God, I'm a fool," she finished; and for a long moment the only sound there was consisted of her breathing, his exhaling smoke and the rain, pattering outside the window.

Max waited for a long moment before he spoke; and when he did, his voice was heavy. "I've been in prison," he said simply.

Elsa's face registered surprise, although she hid it quickly. "What?"

"You heard me, dearest."

"What happened? Did someone discover how you've been swindling Austria out of their hard-earned dollars all these years?" Her tone was acrid, but real concern lay underneath, especially since he wasn't looking at her. She reached out, placed a hand on his knee, as his expression was far away, now. "Max…"

He came to. "Sorry, darling. Well. I assisted the Von Trapps in leaving Austria when the Captain was drafted into the Reich…"

"They're gone?!"

"Indeed they are. It was either escape or the stubborn fool would have been tried—and probably killed-- for treason. It's an idiot that holds on to fleeting values when life is at stake." Max's voice had taken on an unusually bitter tinge to it now, but he continued. "They left. My name was dragged into it, despite my best efforts. They took me in, I wouldn't speak…" his voice trailed off. "You can imagine the unpleasantness that followed."

"You could have told."

"I could have." His face was unreadable for a minute; then, he smiled wanly. "It was…Georg, though. And Maria. You understand."

She did. "You did well," she admitted with a sigh; then leaned into his shoulder, wanting more to rest at that moment than she had all year. "I am sorry that happened to you, though."

He shrugged. "No need to sympathize, Elsa. You're quite terrible at it."

"Oh—for God's sake, Max." Silence, again. Then, from Max--

"You loved him, did you not?"

"I'd rather not speak about it." Her mouth was set in a thin, hard line.

A pause.

"How vulgar of you." He sounded almost disappointed to hear her half-admission. "I wish you'd told him. It might have helped."

"I'm glad I didn't." she straightened up, began to struggle to her feet; then paused and allowed Max to lift her down from their perch. "At least I was left with _some _dignity."

"So…what's next?" He was looking down at her, a half-smile on his face, and she wondered briefly what he'd endured—he was so thoroughly changed, so_ serious_. But then again, the whole world was more serious now, in the throes of war. Not us, she thought rebelliously, lifting her light head; she and Max were a different breed, purely selfish, self-seeking. If love wasn't for them, then, well--

They'd find peace, contentment in other things. They'd have to.

"You'll find me another rich widower, of course," she said lightly as he vacated his own seat. Something in his expression darkened when she said that, but she chose to ignore it. "Do come and get into something dry, Max. My late husband's clothes are packed somewhere in this place, and you can have his room tonight."

"Your reputation will be in shreds by morning," he teased.

"Nonsense. There are servants in the house and besides—" her lips curved up slightly. "Vienna needs a new scandal from me. I've been jilted; now I'll be…loose."

"Loose," Max repeated; then, he grinned, as if he liked the sound of the word. "Indeed. And how may I be of assistance in helping you achieve that reputa--"

"Quiet!" For the first time in months, the Baroness laughed—really laughed. She reached out a hand, indicating the door. "Let's be off."

So, they were.


End file.
